I Wish I Were The Lily's Leaf

I Love Thee With The Passion Put To Use In My Old Griefs, And With My Childhood's Faith. I Love Thee With A Love I Seemed To Lose With My Lost Saints,-i Love Thee With The Breath, Smiles, Tears, Of All My Life!-and, If God Choose, I Shall But Love Thee Better After Death.

Oh, The Little Birds Sang East, And The Little Birds Sang West.

World's Use Is Cold, World's Love Is Vain, World's Cruelty Is Bitter Bane; But Is Not The Fruit Of Pain.

His Ears Were Often The First Thing To Catch My Tears.

Measure Not The Work Until The Day's Out And The Labor Done.